


You Could Never Be My Woman

by BlindSwandive



Category: Kids in the Hall, Kids in the Hall (TV) RPF
Genre: Dave is gorgeous as a woman, Drag, Kevin can't help but want "her", M/M, Seriously though she is way too hot, sexual identity confusion, sexual identity issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 00:02:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10057970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlindSwandive/pseuds/BlindSwandive
Summary: Kevin gets too drawn in by just how much like a woman David looks--and how beautiful he looks--when they film the prostitute sketches.  His interest starts to spiral out of control.Because, seriously:https://perfectcursive.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/picture-2.png





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In interviews and commentaries, Kevin McDonald gets completely hung up on how pretty Dave was in those sketches--repeating over and over how pretty he was. And there's a contingent out there convinced Dave looks like Isabella Rossellini, which I can kinda' see. So this kind of had to happen from there. Feedback is love!

Kevin couldn't stop staring.

It had never been a big deal, the cross-dressing. They all made passable women, when they did it right (though some more passable than others). And he knew, by now, that all of them could pull off the sexy woman thing, once in a while, when they needed to. Even Scott. Even himself. Hell, Mark had gotten catcalls, once.

But Dave...

Dave was something else entirely.

He'd known Dave for, what, nine, ten years now? And you didn't really notice changes, much, not when you saw someone every day, he knew that. But with the other guys, he could at least see it, if he stepped back and really thought about it. He could tell that they'd all grown up, at least physically, at least a little--he knew he had, himself. But Dave was somehow still as spindly as he had been when he was nineteen and they'd first started playing together. He hadn't aged. He hadn't squared off or broadened out or managed to turn into a man; he still seemed so _young._ But it didn't really strike Kevin just how un-manly he was until he saw Dave become Jocelyn, the Quebecois hooker.

Had Dave really always been that _pretty?_ For a decade, had he not really noticed?

The sketch was just a one off (he thought), so he eventually forgot about it. Mostly. He forgot about the garters and fishnets and boots, and the Joan Jett wig. Mostly.

But then there she was again, like a fantastic phantom coming back for the new season after months had passed, so many months later that he'd almost forgotten about the miniskirt and the lipstick and the red press-on fingernails. Just serving as one of the "straight men," so to speak, for the Cops, out at the end of the night when they'd filmed everything else they needed.

And Kevin stared.

Dave as a woman--Dave as _that_ woman--was prettier than any girl Kevin had ever dated, ever even contemplated being able to date. Prettier than any women who even deigned to talk to him, than any woman he'd touched (who hadn't been an aunt or a doctor or something). And not an hour before Dave had gotten dressed, before he had turned into--into that, Dave had been crashed out on the couch, passed out against Kevin's shoulder in a tryptophan coma from the club sandwiches and rum that had passed as dinner. Kevin hadn't had the heart to move him. Dave had split a coffee with him, after he'd woken up, groggy, and their lips had touched the same cup. And now, Dave _was_ talking to him, and standing very near while they filmed. No girls of Jocelyn-level sexy had done any of those things, before, "fame" or no.

This time, Kevin could have gone home. Or at least hid inside the trailer. It was freezing, and he was the odd man out, that night, neither Hooker nor Cop, but if the others were all going to be stuck out in the cold on the street, he was going to lend moral support, and man the bottle of liquor for them. And he was convinced that that was all it was about, until "Jocelyn" piped up to rebuff the cops' inept sting.

And then, even though it still looked like Dave, there, and even though it happened all the time that he put on a dress and a wig and a voice, Dave suddenly broke through some perfect magic barrier that had held him to himself. Suddenly, he was so pretty that you couldn't tell, if you didn't know him, that he wasn't a woman, that he wasn't one of the loveliest women there were. God, even his hands looked small and feminine, his shoulders girlish, his legs... Everything was perfect. Drag queens would have cried with envy.

Kevin just stared. 

David was so pretty it hurt, so pretty it made him lonely. He was stricken with a pang of remembered agony of being overweight, unpopular, and asthmatic as a teen, of the ache that had accompanied every crush just because it was doomed to be futile. But Dave liked him--Dave and he read each other's minds, finished each other's ideas. They did things together even when they didn't have to, even in the worst times. His brain raced through the day, then, only with David replaced by that beautiful facsimile, sharing his cup and sleeping up against him, and every impulse in his body screamed at him to go and latch on, to cling and never let go.

If he'd been even half again as brave, or less sane by half, he might have.

But he was too much a coward for that, he told himself, and not quite crazy enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevin makes some headway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love!

Kevin felt like a triumphant cat.

He _never_ felt like a cat. A small dog, maybe, a little worse for wear, one that can't do any tricks and looks sad all the time... but a cat? Never.

But now, he did. He'd _plotted._ He'd _manipulated._ He'd _fibbed._

Well. In as much as he could really manage any of those things. He was the worst liar in Ontario, he was pretty sure, and had too much respect for everyone's wills to actually attempt to bend them very much, and too much fear to act with any confidence. More of an aged, diabetic cat with one ear and a skin disorder, about eighth on the pecking order under the alpha. But the tiny little devilish, wanting pulses inside him had pushed him, just the same, had nervously constructed an excuse, had wantonly fed any ego that would have them, until the tides had turned toward him in the end. And anyway, it didn't hurt anybody, and he got to have that terrible illicit thrill.

He got to reprise the pimp role.

It was the best excuse to be with Dave and Scott, when they were playing Jocelyn and Maudre. Mark was getting all the john roles (and Kevin tried not to feel jealous--tried _very_ hard not to _act_ jealous), but this could be more permanent. This could be a recurring role. He'd be on hand all the time; he'd have every right. He'd work on the writing, share in the excitement, lobby for sketches to get in.

He'd get to huddle with Dave-as-Jocelyn in the cold, and share the bottle of brandy.

He supposed it should feel ironic that he was still in the same position as ever--Rudy the pimp never made any headway, had little power, and was just as pathetic as Kevin (and asthmatic, to boot)--but Kevin didn't care. It gave him the excuse to be there, to fantasize.

How could he not?

In this world, this amazing quasi-Dave was on sale--was utterly available, even to him, was beholden to him, had affection for him, would put out for him.

Kevin laid awake at night, after filming, swooning a little under the stream of his imaginary conquests and the brandy while he tried to get warm. He nursed his crush, and stammered too much when Dave did costume changes, or sat too near to him.

No; Dave could never be too near to him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David has started to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love!

"Kevin," David began, one night after filming, while he was struggling out of his boots.

"Yes, David?" Kevin was watching, and couldn't understand how Dave couldn't start with the wig. He had tugged off his own in the Winnebago on the way back. He was still scratching at his scalp.

He wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, though. Anything, if Dave would just look that way, a little longer... And anyway, nylons were almost as bad as wigs, when it came down to it. He was probably just going for the nylons, first...

"Kevin," Dave said again.

"Hm?"

"Kevin, you're staring at my legs, again."

Oh, no. Kevin feigned his confusion badly. "Staring at your legs?"

David nodded, tugging off his clip-on earrings and not looking up from the mirror. "Yes."

"...Was I?"

"Yes," David said, almost (but not quite) patiently. "Again."

"Again?" Kevin repeated faintly.

"Yes, again!" Dave pulled off his gloves, and looked for a moment like he was thinking of using them as a weapon.

Kevin didn't care. He just tried to pull his eyes back to the mirror. (Anyway, he could see Dave, there, too, and maybe be a little more discreet about it.)

"I'm sorry, I didn't really realize I was doing it," he said, half-truthfully, stepping to the sink to wash his face.

"Uh-huh."

When Kevin came up, David had hardly progressed. If he'd even blotted his lipstick, Kevin would have been surprised. His red coat was open, but that was the only notable difference, and he was still fiddling with the buttons.

"Why?" David asked, finally.

"Why...?"

"...Are you staring so much?"

Kevin considered trying to lie, again, but he'd maxed out his quotient of passable fibs for the season, let alone the night. So, he shrugged, and washed his (clean) hands. "Well. I mean."

David was looking at him, now, in the mirror, raising his eyebrows. His perfect eyebrows, over his perfect eyes in that perfect face...

"Well," Kevin said again, weakly. "It's... it's hard not to, isn't it? I mean, you're a good looking guy, don't get me wrong, but... you're... You know, as a girl, you're even... you're..."

Dave covered his face with his hands. "Oh, please don't tell me I'm better looking as a woman."

Kevin felt his own face getting hot. "Well I wouldn't know, I'm not--I can't really judge or, or compare, really..." He stumbled on his words. "Since I'm--I only look at--well, you know--"

"You're getting pretty hard to decipher, actually, so no, I don't know. You can't judge because...?" David prompted.

"Because I only like girls," Kevin insisted, in a rush, "so I can only really comment on whether a girl is pretty, and I probably shouldn't even do that, I should probably just keep my mouth shut, just..."

"You can comment on when a 'girl' is pretty, too, apparently," David corrected, hooking scare quotes in the air.

"You know what I mean," Kevin said, like begging.

"I'm not sure I do."

"Look, I'm just... I'm just digging a hole for myself." Kevin crouched, to untie his shoes (and to lay his forehead against the sink to hide). 

Why wasn't Dave changing, if it was bothering him? Why tempt him? 

"I just meant to say you--you look like a very attractive young woman, like that, and I'm only human," Kevin sighed, kicking himself for the cliche. "It's like--it's like a reflex. My brain may know better, but my--"

He stopped there, caught up on the potential problems of his next statement.

"Kevin..." Dave warned.

Kevin stammered, staring horror-struck at the floor. "But my--my--my _eyes,_ " he seized on, "they automatically just... just stick."

"Because your eyes don't know better," David clarified.

"Right."

"It's that convincing."

"Right," Kevin agreed, eagerly.

"And I'm just that hot?"

"Right!" Relief flooded his chest.

But David tugged at a lock of the wig, to pull it forward to examine it. "You know, I'm not sure how I feel about that."

And the relief leaked back away. "Oh."

"Oh," Dave agreed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David makes an admission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love!

David slumped against the lamppost, between takes, hugging himself. "So, Kevin..."

"Yes, David?" Kevin asked, immediately on guard. He was starting to worry, whenever Dave (in drag) asked him questions, now. 

"If we were both drunk at a party, and I looked like this, would you try to come on to me?"

Kevin startled. "I--no, no, I--of course I wouldn't... What--"

"Why not?" Dave interrupted, affecting a pout. "I mean, if you didn't know it was me. If I'm so hot," he muttered.

Kevin shrugged awkwardly. He thought Dave might be teasing, but he couldn't think of any jokes, so he answered truthfully. "Even then. You'd--" He paused, and examined the sidewalk. "You'd be out of my league. So far, far out..."

David rolled his eyes, but looked braced. Bordering on smug, really. They were called back to attention, for the next take, but when it was over, Dave huddled closer to him than he had before. Kevin tried to take it in stride, and not enjoy it too much.

"So is it wrong that I feel sexy this way?" Dave asked in a flat undertone. He hadn't quite kicked the Quebecois, yet; it lingered in his voice. Sometimes it was hard to turn off something like that.

Kevin dared himself, and after a too-long hesitation, wrapped an arm around his friend's shoulders, to squeeze him. It was so, so cold, after all... "Come on, how could you not?"

"Eh, you keep saying that..." 

"Just because it's true," Kevin said kindly, jumping automatically into comfort mode. "I bet--you know, I bet if I looked even half that good in fishnets, it'd become my new 'thing.' I wouldn't be able to take them off. Everywhere I went, you'd see me in fishnets. Just an ounce of encouragement..."

Dave snorted, but seemed appeased. 

"I mean it," Kevin went on. "Once in middle school, this girl I barely knew said she liked my jacket, and I wore it for the rest of the year. Even in summer, eighty degrees."

"Right," Dave said, scuffing his shoe on the ground. "But that's not really an option for me, is it? Tabitha's just not into the whole cross-dressing thing. I mean, maybe I should be grateful she only likes guys, not having to worry about the other half of the species..."

Kevin closed his eyes and tried not to picture Dave-in-drag with his on-again, off-again girlfriend. Not in too much detail, anyway...

"Kevin!" David snapped suddenly, swatting his arm.

Kevin's eyes shot open guiltily. "What, what?"

"I know what you're thinking," he accused, "and don't!"

"I'm only human!" Kevin wailed, handily over the top, appealing for mercy.

"Is Kevin picturing Joc and Maudre getting it on, again?" Scott asked. He'd returned with the liquor.

"Again?" Dave asked, suspiciously.

"No!" Kevin insisted, waving his hands. "No, Jocelyn and Tabitha!"

"A-ha!" Dave wheeled on him. "So you admit it!" He elbowed him lightly to shoo him off, like he was a traitor.

Kevin cringed. "Yes, yes, fine, I admit it. But, but..."

"But he can't help it," Scott stepped in. "It's just what straight men do. Wave the lesbians in front of them and they're gone."

"Excuse me," Dave interjected, "I _am_ a straight man, and that doesn't mean if I see--oh, say, Bruce in drag, and one of his little--little chippies he brings onto the set, that I'm going to drift off into some little daydream of them _in flagrante delecto,_ does it?"

Scott shrugged. "That's just because Bruce doesn't make as gorgeous a woman as you do."

Dave threw up his hands and stalked off towards the Winnebago.

"And who even calls anyone a chippy, anymore, anyway?" Scott muttered mutinously, in his wake.

Kevin laid his forehead up against the lamppost and sighed, hoped it wouldn't stick. Scott patted his shoulder, sympathetically, offering the bottle over to him. "Hey, he'll come around."

"Really?" Kevin asked, only barely hopeful.

"No, probably not."

Kevin sighed and took the bottle, to stave off the chill.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David needs a favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love!

"Kevin..."

"I swear I wasn't staring," Kevin blurted frantically. "No, that's not true, I was. I'm so sorry, Dave, I just--"

"Kevin--"

"--I can't seem to--"

"--Kevin," Dave said louder, "it's all right."

Kevin stopped and gaped. "It is?"

"Nowhere near what I was even going to ask about," Dave said, fairly calmly.

"Ah." Kevin applied his forehead to the wall three times, quietly, but in rapid succession. "So I just went ahead and admitted that I was staring for no real reason."

"Yeah." Dave patted his shoulder. "But that's okay, too. I actually just wanted to ask you a favor."

"Shoot." Thud, thud, thud.

"All right," Dave said, but hesitated, picking at one of his press-on nails. (Kevin thunked on, in the interval.) When Dave resumed, not-quite-nonchalantly, he asked, "Do you think it'd be okay if I crashed on your couch?" 

Kevin looked up immediately, only slightly dazed.

"Just for the night, I hope," Dave added, embarrassed.

"Hey, sure, of course. No problem. Why?"

Dave launched into a fairly circuitous explanation, but the gist of it was this: the on-again/off-again was off, again.

"Say no more," Kevin said, only in part to stop Dave's hastening approach to the Land of Dwelling. "Just don't let me leave without you, when you're getting cleaned up, okay? You know how bad I am about that kind of thing. It'll slip my mind completely."

"Let's--how about we just go right away, then, once they've got the shot?" Dave suggested, a little uneasy. "I can get dressed at your place."

Kevin stared. "Are you sure? Taking the bus, dressed like... like that? I don't mind waiting..."

"I'm, no--" Dave waved his hand urgently, and took what looked like an uncomfortable moment. "I'd just rather not hang around. You know, after those guys tried to pick me up, last time...?"

"Say no more," Kevin said, again, but for different reasons, this time. He didn't need any prompting, to remember that. Probably shouldn't dwell on it, himself.

"However," Dave said with a stern point of an acrylic nail, "I may require you to stand up for my honor should any _toughs_ try to disparage it."

Kevin laughed, and wasn't sure why he felt so light-headed, suddenly. (The banging on the wall, maybe? Was he concussed?) "Yes, ma'am! I'll even--I'll even walk toward the street. To shield you from 'toughs,' and weaving cars, and whatever else that's supposed to protect you from."

No, not a concussion. Giddiness, that was it. He felt absolutely giddy.

"And maybe let me sit by the window, on the ride home," Dave agreed, nodding. "You take the aisle?"

"Sure," Kevin said, biting down at his smile. Dave looked at least half-serious about that.

When in his life had a gorgeous girl (he _had_ to stop thinking like that) ever asked him to take her home, and protect her on the way? Ever looked like she half-believed he could?

It almost made him feel like he'd have a chance at standing up to someone, if he had to. Just that ounce of faith made him feel half a foot taller.

He barely managed to refrain from making some kind of "taking care of my bitches" joke, but he swaggered exceptionally well, that night.

When they had gone through all the necessaries and finally finished, drunk enough to numb the burn of the cold, it _had_ slipped Kevin's mind (everything did), but Dave's affectionate slap on the back and "I'll just be a minute" brought it singing back home. So he scrambled to collect his street clothes and glasses and anything else he could need, while David scribbled a note for Hillary, their wardrobe mistress. Kevin thought better of wearing the wig and faux snakeskin jacket home, what with Dave's costume, but that was all that he changed. By the time he'd pulled on his own jacket and stuffed a paper grocery bag with the rest, and double-checked for anything he might miss if he left it, Dave was stamping in the doorway in his agitation to get going, and clutching a grocery bag of his own.

Kevin had a dizzy moment of fantasy--utterly domestic fantasy--where the impatient figure waiting for him was his girlfriend, that they'd just been out shopping for a few provisions at the all-night bodega and he'd fallen behind, looking at a magazine on a rack or something equally unimportant. She wouldn't want to walk out alone, not that late at night, not in the middle of the city, so she was scolding him to hurry up.

"Kevin, come on, we'll miss the bus and have to wait..."

It took him a while to realize he'd heard it out loud, and not just in his head.

"And there are some serious hosers near the corner, there, who I do _not_ want to meet," Dave went on, oblivious to Kevin's daydreaming.

"Yes, dear," Kevin mumbled, automatically. If there was some laughter behind him, at that--if there were still other people in the Winnebago to laugh, at all--he didn't care enough to register it. He just scrambled to catch up, and to walk close enough to Dave to seem proprietary. Just for Dave's sake, of course. 

He was too giddy to even speak, on the walk to the bus stop. He just tried to exude confident protectiveness. He even shooed Dave in close to the buildings, to jealously block him from the view of the few scattered denizens of the roads, who did gawk, for their part, but not all that much. Dave rambled quietly about his (ex-)girlfriend, and how unfair she was being, and how Kevin clearly liked him more than she ever did if he was willing to shelter him, but Kevin absorbed very little of it as it washed over him. He imagined what groceries they'd have bought, if they'd actually bought groceries.

He was still so high on his imaginary triumph that he almost forgot bus fare, when it came to it, and Dave (whose wallet was buried too deep in his bag to fetch easily) had to catch his elbow and steer him back to the driver to pay for them both.

Plus, it looked better if Kevin paid, didn't it?

And besides, what was a few loonies, compared to the joy of this little charade?

As he counted coins, Kevin wondered if it would it be wrong of him to hope that his neighbors caught a glimpse of Dave, on the way in.

"But not on the way out," he murmured aloud, without realizing.

"What?"

"Nothing, dear."

Dave rolled his eyes and seized his sleeve. "Come on, _sweetheart,_ let's sit down before the nice driver throws us off the bus."

"Yes, dear."

He let himself be tugged for a moment, still dreamy, but when a passenger much bigger than himself appeared to take an interest in the proceedings, he snapped out of it enough to steer Dave onto the nearest bench, putting his own meager body between 'Jocelyn' and her potential poacher. He smiled winningly (nervously) and nodded, settling his hand on Dave's tights-clad knee, and though Dave missed his cue to do something girlfriend-like in return, the onlooker still took his hint or lost interest and looked away.

Kevin regained the ability to breathe, then, though he clutched his sack to his chest like a shield, or a lifeline.

Dave's quiet tirade broke through the fading panic, "...haven't even gotten any catcalls. I thought you said I was pretty."

"They're clearly just put off by your manly protector," Kevin said, but couldn't sustain it. He shook his head. "You are still being stared at. Let's just be happy that no one's tried to jump us, or steal you away."

"Yet."

"Yet," Kevin said, faintly. "I hate that word."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During the filming of these sketches, a car full of men did in fact try to pick Dave up, once--aggressively.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Men in packs are scary. David is not at his best when he panics, but a little improvisation helps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains slurs and predatory behavior.
> 
> Feedback is love!

The howling started quietly enough, as far as howling goes. And that pack laughter that men have when they forget that they're men.

Kevin, still worried about the guy from the bus (who hadn't glanced twice at them, since), had sent Dave down the steps first, which had been the first mistake. He caught up quickly, but not so quickly that the men outside the liquor store didn't get a good eyeful of Dave, before anything else. 

They were drunk, and they were large, and while they didn't look particularly mobile, slumped against the building, Kevin felt like someone had poured ice water into him, when he saw how they stared at his 'date.' Whatever primordial remnants made some men move in predator packs made Kevin just as assuredly prey, and the urge to run--very, very far away--was overwhelming.

Dave had just frozen in place, staring back. Second mistake.

Kevin reflected that the fight/flight dichotomy was probably a false one, since "petrified in impotent terror and indecision" seemed to be just as legitimate and common a response to conflict as either of the others. But then he stopped thinking and started moving. He had plenty enough flight instinct for the both of them, so he linked Dave's elbow and pulled, hard, until the inertia was broken and David had to stumble along with him or fall on his face.

Luckily, he chose to stumble.

That was when the little howls and yips and catcalls had started.

_'Hey, baby...' 'Can I get a kiss?' 'Hey, baby, where you going? Come back and see me...' 'Come gimme a kiss, girl, just one and I'll take you home...'_

Once they'd gotten a couple of storefronts away and the noise still hadn't stopped, Dave seemed to snap out of his mute terror with a little woozy headshake. But then came the third mistake: after a particularly loud comment ( _'Hey! Want me to get rid of your little faggot boyfriend for you?'_ ) Dave pivoted to look backwards and yelled, "Oh, fuck off, already!"

Kevin felt himself go pale. Or green, he wasn't sure which. He tried awkwardly to tug Dave back around to face forward, and intoned, "Dear, let's not upset the nice, large, scary men who probably have breakable glass bottles nearby." He tried to walk faster.

But Dave was the giddy one, now. "Oh, my God," he breathed, "did you see that? I just yelled at street thugs while dressed as your hooker girlfriend!" There was a new spring in his step, only partly because he was skipping to keep up. "Oh, hey, you don't know them, do you? Will they beat you up on your way to catch the bus tomorrow?"

"I--no, I don't know them, and hope-hopefully they won't..."

Kevin just hoped they wouldn't beat him up, now. 

_'Faggot! Come back here!'_

Did it sound like the carousing was getting closer?

_'Come on, baby, don't be like that...' 'Girl, I can make your dreams come true...' 'Ditch the fag...' 'Listen to me, baby, just gimme a little...'_

"Are they following us?" Kevin asked, and then wished that he hadn't, because Dave craned back to check. Mistake number four.

"Yep!" Dave said, when he was facing forward again. "But they can't have this!" he chirped, cheerfully, swiveling his hips a little. "Not for sale! All belongs to this guy, here!" He nudged Kevin's side. He was wearing a too-wide, open-mouthed grin. Kevin thought it looked slightly manic.

"Da--Dear," he tried, much more quietly, "let's--let's try to not hold their attention any longer than we have to. Let them get on with their night, and let us get home safe, what do you say?"

"I say, 'You could totally take them, stud,'" Dave supplied helpfully.

"Oh, please don't. Please don't say that..."

"What? Shouldn't I tell them that they're a bunch of pussies, and you could nail them to the wall?"

"Dave," Kevin croaked. "Please!"

But Dave just leaned into Kevin and laid his head up against his. "Yep, my big, strong protector!"

Kevin felt dizzy, and his chest felt tight. The men sounded a little louder, behind them.

_'Bitch, come back...' 'I'll give you a twenty...' 'You a tough guy? Want to fight us for her?' 'Where you going, girl?'_

"Yes, they're definitely following us," Dave said, and his voice cracked just a little, this time. "And gaining." An edge of anxiety crept into his overly cheerful tone. "Kevin, why can't I shut up?"

"Here's my theory," Kevin began, once his voice returned.

"Shoot," said Dave.

"All right. I think you might be having some kind of post-panic reaction to those--those nice young men, back there. See, you were startled by seeing them, felt the pang of your mortality, and when we passed, the tension snapped and left you flapping about in the breeze, ironically drawing the danger you had escaped back toward you. That," he said, "or we are way drunker than I thought."

"I'm thinking both," Dave whispered loudly and conspiratorially. He was still grinning, but he looked frayed around the edges. "Stop me, please," he begged through his teeth, still brightly. "I think I'm not coping well. I'm scared. I can't stop talking--"

"So tell me about what we need to get from the store," Kevin whispered, "or--or I don't know, how I need to fix the toilet, anything. Improv," he insisted.

The stage was their safe place, in the world. You could never say no, in improv, but everyone there would protect you when you said yes. Whatever happened offstage, the premise was God and it would shield you while you worshipped. 

Dave seized on it, his eyes full of gratitude. "Yes! Yes, I am going to read you the Riot Act!"

"Not that you--"

"--not that I support the reading of the Riot Act," Dave finished firmly, nodding as he clutched Kevin's arm. 

"Fascist bastards," Kevin agreed, and nodded encouragement.

_'Bitch! Listen when I'm talking to you!'_

Dave swallowed and tried to speak again. His voice was shaking, but he faked annoyance. "Yes they are, but that's--that's beside the point. You know what I mean," he stammered, "so don't you dare try to distract me on the basis of our political compatibility and youthful faith in action."

"Sorry," Kevin said, clinging, trying to steady his own voice. He leaned into Dave's shoulder. "I--I understand that metaphorically speaking, I'm gonna' get it. Premise?" he added in a whisper.

"Premise... premise..." Dave faltered, muttered, "Muddy floor?"

"You have never cleaned a floor in your life," Kevin said, "not looking like that."

_'Fag! Turn around!'_

"Well, that's--that's all the more reason for me to be mad at you about muddying it now, isn't it?" Dave complained clearly, committing. "You, with your muddy boots, from trekking through the mud all day... from... whatever it is you do..." He let a smile slip, but it was a weak thing, desperate.

Kevin took the bait gladly and smiled back, as much as he could. "I trek through the mud for eighteen hours a day for you, to buy you pretty clothes and keep you in... reasonably good fakes of precious stones. And this is the thanks I get? Mud... trekking is hard work, don't you forget it..."

"You know," Dave retorted, managing a passable glower (almost), "I work hard all day, too, down at the, the--"

"--urgent care center," Kevin supplied, randomly.

"Right, because I look _just_ like a nurse, today," Dave muttered, and they both cracked nervous laughs. "Okay, right," he said again, more clearly. "Working hard all day, down at the... urgent care facility, poking... kids with needles and, and pulling strange objects out of people's rectums, and everything else emergency nurses do. I don't need to come home after a long, hard day of--of speculums and IV drips only to find you've trekked mud all across my already apparently not-very-clean floor..."

Whether they had gotten too weird and absorbed for the men and they'd lost interest, or they'd just crossed over some invisible territorial line, Kevin didn't know, but the gallery of obscenities slowly faded out behind them, drifting into obscurity. But only when they finally turned the corner onto Kevin's block did they dare pause to look back for lurkers.

No one.

Kevin started laughing breathlessly as he found a streetlamp to lean up against. He found himself trembling violently--his own post-panic reaction, he guessed, straightforward shock. He felt sick and elated at once.

Dave stumbled after him to the lamp and let his bag slip down to the ground with a dull thud. And for his shock, he grabbed Kevin and kissed him soundly.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David is violent when he's confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're getting somewhere!
> 
> Feedback is love.

Kevin was in too much shock to kiss back.

Before he could even process the situation, Dave had already come back up, up still essentially unkissed, and looked as stunned as if he'd been slapped. He stumbled one step back from Kevin, and opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He raised his palms in surrender or defense, but made no further motion.

Kevin wouldn't have noticed, anyway, if he had. His mind raced and raced and got nowhere. His eyes darted, looking for an anchor.

It took him a minute to find one, but when he did, he dropped his bag and lunged for it. He grabbed Dave by the collar of his red coat, and pulled desperately, pulled until he had bent their heads together and until he had latched his mouth back onto Dave's red lips.

David was not as shocked as Kevin had been, apparently-- _he_ fought back. He squirmed and pushed back at Kevin (who resisted gamely) until he had shoved him hard enough to dislodge him, and knock him back into the lamppost.

Kevin saw spots, when his head connected with the post, but the slap that followed the collision was worse.

Dave was stronger than he looked.

Kevin blinked his eyes clear, and touched his stinging lip, to see if it was bleeding. Then he stared, dumbstruck, at Dave, who had, after all, kissed him first (even if Kevin _had_ rudely left him hanging). Dave, whose shoulders were heaving with his breath, whose eyes were bright and wild, whose hands were balling at his sides.

Kevin was very confused.

But apparently so was Dave, because he lunged again, but this time he pinned Kevin back against the post with another kiss.

'Third time's the charm,' Kevin thought vaguely, before he shut his eyes and opened his mouth and tangled. He clutched at Dave (who had a death grip on his shoulders), terrified of spooking him again but desperate to keep him close enough to kiss. He felt like his heart would break out of his chest at a run any minute, with as hard as it was pounding with panic and thrill and brandy and the hunger of a craving promising to be sated. Where his fingers gripped the red coat near its wearer's throat, he could feel that David's pulse was just as wild.

Dave seemed to be only barely coping, balancing on the finest edge between staying and bolting. He shook one of Kevin's shoulders roughly, before letting it go to strike it with his fist, instead, but then he smoothed the spot with the heel of his hand very deliberately to soothe it. One hand would push while the other pulled. He even almost pulled back and out of the kiss entirely, but Kevin craned up, chasing, and it was enough to catch him again. Though David did bite his lip, when he got the chance. Kevin didn't mind.

When Dave pushed him into the lamppost again, however, self-preservation finally won out and Kevin came up for air. "Let's--" Kevin gasped, "--go up--" (gasp) "--inside--"

Dave teetered back, and the look on his face told Kevin that he would have turned and run away right then and there, if Kevin hadn't had such a tight grip on his coat. Even so, he was leaning like a dog against a leash. "No, no, hold it," Kevin begged, "you need to stay, you do _not_ want to go back the way you came." 

Dave froze, then, and Kevin loosened his grip a little, relieved.

"Also, I am, um," (gasp) "this close to an asthma attack..." 

At that, Dave moved to support him so quickly that Kevin thought his friend might try to carry him up the stairs.

He felt suddenly warm.

"Oh, God, are you all right?" Dave asked, forming words with great effort.

"Yeah, thanks, just--" (gasp) "--help me with the stuff, okay?"

"Okay," Dave breathed, "sure... Come on, just remind me which one it is..."

Kevin managed to gather his bag and guide Dave to the right building, the right key, and the right door, though it took more effort than it should have. Dave managed to not only carry his own things and man the keys, but keep a protective arm around Kevin on the way up, as well.

Kevin was impressed. And filled with a great, nebulous swirl of affection, and other things.

Halfway up the stairs, it struck him that his earlier guilty wish must have come true, by now--there was very little chance that at least one of his neighbors hadn't seen them, out there. How long had they been kissing under the light?

Would Dave let him kiss him again, once they were inside?

Would Dave let him.. .?

He tried to put that dizzy thought out of mind long enough to get inside and fish out his 'in-case-of-relapse' inhaler, and take a somewhat pre-emptive dose. By the time he found it, Dave was rattling frantically in the kitchen, doing who-knew-what, and he was afraid he'd lost his chance.

Kevin listened to the sounds and leaned back against the bathroom door, laying his hand over his chest. He tried to breathe slowly and wait for his pulse to settle and the coils around his lungs to loosen up. The rattling was strangely soothing.

"Coffee?" Dave called, sounding more than a little on edge.

Aha. "Top shelf on the left," Kevin said, not loud enough.

"Where?"

Kevin pocketed the inhaler, took a deep breath (now that he almost could), and picked himself up to head back out to the main room. He couldn't budge the memory of the feeling of David's hands on his shoulders, so he slid off his jacket, just for the excuse to brush the spots they'd been. 

He barely suppressed a groan.

"Where?" Dave repeated, urgently, snapping him out of his reverie.

"Up there on the left." Kevin gestured. "Can I take your coat?"

"Only if you turn up the goddamn heat, it's still fucking cold in here. I don't know how you can walk around in a tank top..."

Kevin hadn't noticed the chill, his skin was tingling all over. "Oh, right..." He went to do as asked (well, 'asked' was a strong word for it), and by the time the coffee was percolating, it was far too warm for coats, and Dave gave in to Kevin's hovering by shrugging it off and pushing it on him.

"Thanks," he muttered, while Kevin just nodded and skipped to hang it with his own. He was _buzzing._ He wondered how much the wig would feel like hair, if he ran his fingers through it...

"You can get changed," he reminded Dave reluctantly, when he thought of it. "The bathroom's over there--"

"No," Dave interrupted tightly. "I think--I think I need to not change, for a little bit."

Kevin tried to restrain the renewed soaring of his spirits. "O-oh?"

"I'm--there's a lot to deal with, at the moment," he shot Kevin a pointed look, "and it makes more sense when I'm--when I have an excuse, okay? I--this is weirdly comforting, right now, which is slightly upsetting, but _any comfort_ I can get right now--"

Kevin raised his palms disarmingly. "Whatever you want! I want you to be comfortable."

"I want a drink," Dave retorted.

"Okay, what--"

"Whatever's good with coffee. Whatever you have," Dave amended, snatching at the coffee pot as soon as there was a mug's worth in it, despite the spitting. 

He still looked like he was only barely not running.

Kevin obediently fetched out a liqueur, only slightly embarrassed to have it. It would do, anyway. Dave absorbed his glass before Kevin had even finished pouring his own, and when he set down the bottle, Dave snatched it to top up his coffee. 

He gripped his mug with both hands, like he was afraid it would get away. Or maybe like it was his last line of defense.

Kevin forced himself to give Dave a wide berth, just in case he felt attacked, again. He stepped only as near as he needed to to get the coffee (though he knew he'd regret the caffeine, that late), and then retired to a just-past-arm's-length distance. 

"Thank you for staying and helping me up," he said, once he'd found a good spot to lean against. "I was--I was scared you'd go back, and..." he began, but he lost the words for it.

"...And get gang-banged by the bus stop?" Dave finished for him, shakily, over his mug. "Or just beaten to a pulp?"

"Oh, why not both?" Kevin said, with false cheer. "I'm sure they could work that out, if they really tried."

"I don't know, that kind of complex math might be beyond them."

Kevin's traitorous brain, already helpfully detailing the breadth of the potential traumas they could have experienced for him, felt the need to interject a few unnecessarily racy Jocelyn-as-plaything images into the mix, at that moment, and he coughed into his coffee. He wiped the splash from his lip, and mumbled, "Let's hope so," guiltily forcing himself to retreat back to a kitchen chair, to fold over himself.

He wanted to be closer, wanted there to be nothing between them at all.

Dave released his mug only long enough to brace himself up to perch on the counter, like a cat seeking higher ground. Once he'd recovered it (maybe it was more of a security blanket?), he bored a fierce look into Kevin, which Kevin didn't even attempt to return.

'Please don't read my mind, please don't read my mind...' he begged, silently, looking at his knees.

"What would you have done if they'd grabbed me?" David asked.

He sighed awkward relief. He'd gotten away with it. 

"I'd have let them have you," Kevin joked nervously, but it fell flat. "I... No, I like to think I'd have valiantly gotten myself beaten up trying to save you. I'd probably mostly have frozen up and cried like a little girl for help, though," he admitted, "maybe tried to tell them we're... sort of famous, in some circles, and see if it bought us a little time."

"That's sweet, sort of."

"Well, you know me. 'Sweet-sort-of' is my middle name."

"I thought it was Hamilton?"

"Kevin Hamilton 'Sweet-sort-of' McDonald?" Kevin tried, hopelessly. 

Dave cracked a smile. "Well, it's got a certain ring to it..."

Kevin was desperately glad to laugh, even if just a little.

"Anyway," Dave said, shaking his head, "I'm sure I could have taken on, oh, an entire group of much, much larger men on my own, after you curled up in the fetal position and abandoned me. I have a mean right hook."

"I know," Kevin said, rubbing his cheek wide-eyed. "You hit like a girl, and by that I mean in the fiercest, most vicious way possible, and harder by far than me."

"Oh, God, Kevin, I'm so sorry, I completely wigged out down there." Dave dropped back down from the counter, his evident guilt closing the distance between them quickly as he came to check Kevin's face for bruising. He even set his security mug down on the table, and lifted Kevin's chin, to tip his face to the light. His fingers were shaking, just a little, but he'd taken off his gloves, at some point, and his skin was warm against Kevin's.

Kevin's glee for this got the better of him. Before he could stop himself, he began to suggest, "Well, we could--" but he managed to choke off the imminent "try it again" just in time. He found nothing else to fill in, however, and just gaped dumbly up, staring into David's face. He could think of nothing else in the world.

David let him off on that one, though, too, just pulling out the chair beside him. "It doesn't look bad," he commented, nervously, and sank ungracefully into the seat, facing him. He even smiled a little, apologetic or something like it, and leaned to pat his shoulder stiffly. Kevin leaned closer, too, drawn inexorably by the nearness.

"I don't even know what that was about," Dave went on, a little too quickly. "I'm sorry. Maybe you're right about it being a panic thing--"

And then Kevin cut him off by kissing him.

He didn't remember actually deciding to do it, but there it was.

"Kevin," Dave protested, when he'd managed to pull back, but Kevin followed like a puppy, fumbling his mug down onto the table and dropping urgent kisses whenever he could land them between Dave's evasions. "Kevin--" (kiss) "--this is really not--"

Kevin didn't even feel in control of his body, at that point. It moved on its own. He planted his hands, one on the back of the chair and one on the table, feebly attempting to cut off escape routes, and braced one knee on Dave's chair so he could lean right along with him as Dave tried to flatten back into the table, slide down his chair.

But when Kevin landed another kiss, this time squarely on the mark, he stopped sliding and sighed into his mouth.

Dave hung there for a moment, very still and open, his hands caught in the air where they'd landed. 

But like coming up from underwater, all at once he gasped and filled, and his wiry arms latched around Kevin tightly. Kevin sighed, this time, with relief, and gathered David up as close as he would come. He could have crowed.

"Fuck!" Dave whispered once, between bouts, and socked Kevin's thigh angrily. When Kevin came up for an 'ow,' David only pulled him back in, kissing him fiercely.

A moment's debate convinced Kevin that the bruises he'd have would all be worth it.

The dynamic of the thing took over, and soon their hands were all roving blindly, gripping and groping, only narrowly avoiding anything that might incriminate the bodies they were exploring. Kevin felt like a teenager, making out (at least if he'd gotten to really make out, as a teen), consumed and half mad and eighteen kinds of desperate. He didn't even know what to do with himself, perched precariously over his friend. Eventually, he slipped, landing sort of straddled over Dave's lap, only half supported by the chair.

This seemed to be some kind of trigger, because Dave broke off, then, and dove face first into his neck, kissing feverishly, nipping and latching. One of his hands tangled in Kevin's curly hair, and the other gripped his hip.

Kevin shuddered, letting his head fall back, only in part because Dave was tugging, and it was the path of least resistance. Mostly, the teeth on his neck were sending a jolt of tension through him, doing strange things to the base of his spine and the insides of his veins, and it was the only possible response. That, and moaning.

Dave hauled him firmly up close, belly to belly and hips to hips, before cursing, again, startled, and abruptly letting go.

Kevin ended up on the floor.

"Oh, _that,_ " he mumbled, lying back and covering his face with both hands. 

Both were silent, for a moment.

"You know," Kevin said, slowly, after a while, "I hate to sound like a wuss, but could we maybe avoid me colliding so much with hard objects like," he considered, "lampposts and the floor?"

"This is a lot easier for you!" Dave snapped, but sounded a little embarrassed. "You're not the one making out with a man! Why am I--why are we even--"

"I don't know," Kevin said, sitting back up, frustration putting an edge on his voice, "but the hot and cold thing is a little disconcerting."

"Well if you'd stop--"

"If I'd--you started it!" Kevin insisted, in his own defense.

"I was confused and shaken and you're--and you're taking advantage of me!" 

Kevin stared.

Was he?

"Am I?"

Dave pulled his knees up to his chest, and wrapped his arms around them. "If I absolutely said no, I'm just going to go get dressed—dressed like a man—and sleep on your couch, what would you do?"

Kevin rubbed his face and thought about it, as a chill ran through him. "I'd--I'd get you a pillow and then probably go hide in the bathroom and bang my head against the wall for a while." He omitted the other things he'd probably do in the bathroom, beforehand. Or during, maybe, depending on just how self-loathing he was feeling at the time.

Dave dropped his chin behind his arms. "You know I didn't come home with you to have some kind of fling," he said, uncomfortably.

"I didn't think you did," Kevin said, automatically, though he wondered if some small part of his brain had been less sensible about it.

"Or to fulfill some Jocelyn fetish you've got."

"I know," Kevin said, beating a retreat by crawling back a couple of feet, trying to obscure how some parts of him clearly didn't know that. He absolutely _ached._ "And I didn't say yes because I thought I'd be able to get into your pants. Tights," he amended. "You're my friend and I care about you. I want to take care of you," he ended, faltering a little.

Maybe that had been too much.

When Kevin looked up (it was too quiet), Dave was holding onto his own head.

"Sorry," Kevin said quietly, though he wasn't sure what for.

Dave just shook his head. "God, I'm a basket-case tonight," he muttered.

Kevin didn't tell him different.

"But you're still thinking about making out with me, aren't you?" Dave asked, infusing it with just a touch of accusation.

Kevin waited a moment too long, to answer.

"That's what I thought. Well--well tell me this," Dave said, not quite looking at him, "if I went and got cleaned up, put back on my nice suit and scrubbed off all my make-up and everything, would you still want to?"

Kevin waited too long, again.

Dave stared, then. "Since when?" he asked, a little pale.

Kevin shook his head, just as surprised by his admission (such as it was) as Dave. "Since now, I think. I'm--I'll just go hide in the bathroom and bang my head into the wall for a while, see if it passes," he said, rolling up onto his knees. "You're clearly not safe from my predatory ways, at the moment, whatever you do."

"Kevin..." 

"I've clearly gone mad with drink, or shock, or something, I'm sorry..."

"Kevin," Dave repeated, "wait, just... relax. I--" 

Kevin waited, not looking up, but Dave didn't seem able to finish his sentence. 

After a long moment, Dave stood, instead. "I need to get out of these. Just--just give me a minute in there, I'll be back."

Kevin let himself collapse back onto the floor, after Dave had shut the door behind him. 

He boggled up at the ceiling. Why would he want to jump Dave—Dave _as_ Dave—so badly? Transference? Maybe the fixation on Jocelyn was just mirroring back onto her maker. Or momentum? He'd just hit fever pitch, and passed some kind of point of no return, too keyed up to come down even if the object of his lust did turn into his best friend.

Or maybe the transference and momentum were just enough to crack whatever thin grasp on social convention had kept him from learning to want to jump Dave long before.

Whatever it was, he was fairly sure that Dave coming out looking like Dave was not going to make it any easier.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out Dave is just as beautiful as a boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love!

Dave looked like an angel, framed in the doorway of the bathroom, his blonde hair mussed and backlit into a halo by the lights. He still looked slightly damp, and very clean, though a touch of the eyeliner had refused to come off. He was still holding the hand towel, as if he was uncertain what to do with it.

Kevin looked up over his coffee, and knew he was doomed. He'd gotten himself back up off of the floor, and even changed out of the too-tight polyester pants and the rest of the Rudy gear and into sweats and a pullover, even cleaned Dave's lipstick from his face, but he wished he hadn't bothered to come off his knees. He wanted to lie down with his face in the ground and beg forgiveness.

_Dave_ was beautiful. Just Dave, all of himself.

He must be insane. He must be drunk and insane and too horny to be fit for polite company...

"I'm... not sure why I put my tie back on," Dave admitted, picking up the end of it idly. "Kind of silly, I'll just have to take it back off. In fact, I probably won't want to sleep in these at all," he said, gesturing to his still fairly crisp slacks and button up. "I'll just have to borrow something and change again. Guess I didn't think far enough ahead, huh?"

He watched Kevin carefully, while he spoke, like he was looking for signs of cracks in a façade.

"Yeah," was all Kevin managed.

"Ah, now see, there," David said, with a brittle brightness, apparently having seen something he was looking for, "the shine's come off, hasn't it? You don't still feel like... don't still want to--"

"Yeah, I do," Kevin said, sighing.

Dave looked down at his tie for a moment, starting to roll it nervously up from the tip. "Really?"

"Just as much. You should probably keep your distance if you want to keep that tie in place."

Dave sank against the doorframe.

Kevin wished he hadn't said it. The image of himself, swaggering up and loosening David's tie, before bending him back into an impetuous kiss became impossible to shake.

"You're undressing me with your eyes right now," Dave said, pointing at him, "ooh, _j'accuse._ "

"I am!" Kevin said, opening his arms in admission, before dropping them into his lap. "I have nothing to say in my defense."

Dave stared, stared like he was seeing Kevin for the first time. 

"What..." he tried, gesturing, "what are we..."

Kevin shook his head slowly, letting his eyes drift slowly down from the topmost stray hair of Dave's head to his stocking feet. "I don't know. But whatever it is, I want to keep doing it."

"Kevin, I'm not..."

"Me, neither."

"But--"

"--but can we make out some more?"

Kevin thought this was what they called 'going for broke.' Considering Dave's on-and-off aggression, 'broken' might be quite appropriate.

"Kevin, no, we--" Dave covered his eyes, and sighed. "Christ, gimme that bottle," he muttered.

Kevin sprang up to fetch it, and Dave's glass, but Dave just pushed the towel off on Kevin and drank right from the bottle, and for a long time.

"Fuck," he said a little thickly, after a swallow, "it's hard to get wasted on amaretto." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, shaking his head. "Ugh. I'm going to die of diabetes before I get drunk."

"It's--you'll feel it sooner than you think," Kevin said, embarrassed with personal knowledge of the thing. "You just don't notice it while it's happening."

"Fuck," Dave repeated, eloquently, loosening his tie.

He took another few gulps and pushed the bottle back on Kevin, who was hovering--he hadn't been able to make himself back off, again, after he'd come near--and folded his arms loosely over his chest. 

Kevin followed Dave's lead, and drank the cloying stuff from the source. It kept him from grabbing for Dave's tie. Or Dave's shirt.

"So I think the question is," Dave began, and his voice was still sticky with the sugar, "is this. You, we understand, basically--it's that I'm too pretty. But me..."

Kevin watched him expectantly.

Nothing happened. After a pause, Dave said, "That wasn't a question."

Kevin shook his head. "Didn't quite make it, no."

"Why am _I_ , is my question," Dave tried, again.

A little helplessly, Kevin asked, "Why are you what?"

"We've--I've been--you're not--" Dave stopped in frustration and closed his eyes. After a deep breath, he opened them again and squared off his stance, maybe steeling himself, and asked, "Why do I want to?"

"Want to--"

"--yes."

Kevin fumbled to put the bottle and towel back on the table. "Want to m-make out," he verified, though it seemed too good to be true.

"Yes! Why?"

The impossible jolt of need and want shot through Kevin like it had never been discouraged. "Does it matter why?" he asked, a bundle of nerves. "If we want to, and we're drunk, and we're currently bachelors..." He felt his logic was impeccable. He encroached.

"And we work together, and we're _straight,_ " Dave countered. "I can't even pretend I think you're a girl."

"I'll put on the wig," Kevin said, desperately, "or, or the whole thing."

"We don't have the make-up, you'd just look like Keith Richards."

Kevin blinked. "I would, actually, wouldn't I?"

"Little bit."

"...Would that help?"

Dave looked like he was considering it for a moment, but shook his head. "No. No, probably not."

Kevin nodded. "Okay. So," he said, tense as a wire, reaching out cautiously for Dave's arms, "so... We could just _try_..." He stepped back, trying to draw Dave along with him by the elbows. "No--outfits, or make-up, or anything..."

"No excuses," Dave murmured, ashen. "That sounds like a profoundly bad idea."

But he let Kevin pull him over toward the couch, just the same.

"It's--it's fine," Kevin said, calmly as he could manage under the circumstances, as he pushed Dave gently back and down onto the cushions. "We know you can beat me up, so if--God, I sound like such a man--so if you want to stop..."

"I just have to hit you?" Dave replied, sardonically.

"I should get that message, yeah."

Dave hesitated for a long moment, before lifting his hands in surrender, and nodding without making eye contact.

Kevin's eyes tried to roll up into his head in pre-emptive bliss.

He took a deep breath, and came closer, though now that it was planned and licit, he didn't exactly know how to proceed. He started to reach, stopped. Started to sit, stopped. Went to touch, waited.

Maybe Dave was right about the excuses. Kevin was too timid for his own good, when things were out in the open.

And Dave--infinitely more experienced, infinitely more confident--sat frozen and waited, at least as uncertain as Kevin. He certainly wasn't going to make the first move.

So Kevin shifted, forcing himself to put a knee down on the couch beside his friend, reaching awkwardly to touch his shoulder, his face. Dave lifted his arms like they were leaden, to meet him, almost mimicking Kevin's with one hand on a shoulder and one on an elbow. There was enough room between them for another body, at least.

Kevin began to slowly lean his face close, perched unsteadily as he was, and started racing through second thoughts and what-ifs. Was this a bad idea, he didn't want to startle Dave, he didn't want to fall, would his knee hurt if he stayed this way too long...? Maybe he should just sit down, and see if Dave would turn to him that way, and they could be docile and civilized like nervous virgins, all the safe distance in the world preserved between their bodies, no surprises...

But then he remembered the way Dave had gone for the throat, when Kevin had fallen into his lap like a stripper, and he braced and reached past to hold the back of the couch for balance. His heart was fluttering like a hummingbird. Very deliberately, he shifted his weight forward and across, sliding his other knee snugly between Dave's hip and the arm of the couch.

And straddling him, he sank uneasily to rest just a little of his weight down on Dave's thighs.

"Is that--" he began, but his voice was too small, so he swallowed and tried again. "Is this okay?"

Dave's hands gripped automatically, and he nodded, his eyes finally focusing on Kevin's.

Kevin couldn't read his face, at all. "Are you sure...?" he asked, weakly, and Dave responded by tightening his grip and pulling Kevin the rest of the way down, to let his weight fall completely onto Dave's lap.

"Yes," he said, firmly.

Kevin tried to not boggle at the why of the mechanism, and just enjoy its existence.

This close, Kevin could feel the warmth of his friend's body, feel his breath, and leaning in close felt natural. Dave's arms were snaking around him, helping to close the distance, and when their noses bumped, they both smiled a little and rested their foreheads together.

They didn't kiss. 

Kevin licked his lips, where Dave's breath tickled them, and his unsteady fingers crept out to Dave's throat. Tremblingly, he slid the knot down the length of the necktie until the loop was wide enough to come off over Dave's head, and Kevin took great relish in removing it, and in freeing two of the buttons that had been hiding behind it.

He would have undone a few more, but Dave cut him off by doing him one better and slipping his hands under the edge of Kevin's sweater, brushing his sides as he pulled it up and off.

Kevin jumped a little, tickled (startled), and shrank into himself, shirtless and a little shy, but Dave would have none of it, pulling him in, again.

They only kissed for a moment, before sliding past, cheek along cheek, until their chests were flush. Kevin landed one wet kiss on the curve of Dave's ear before Dave broke through and fixed on Kevin's neck as he had, before, as if he was determined to fill in the spots he'd missed the first time, determined to mark the new areas he'd uncovered. His hands wandered, warming Kevin's skin in broad stripes where they skated and pressed by turns.

Kevin felt like a plucked guitar string, locked into place between Dave's mouth and Dave's lap, but thrumming. He gripped uselessly at Dave, at a loss for how to participate. Eventually, he managed to slide a hand between their chests, blindly fumbling for buttons to conquer while he fluttered his other fingers through Dave's hair, but it was all overflow. David was completely absorbed.

Kevin didn't know how to deal with that, except to go desert blind in the fever of it.

He didn't realize he was rocking, pulsing primordially against his friend until Dave took a loud breath against Kevin's jaw, clutching to hold him still, pressed hard together.

Kevin's disengaged self-preservation mechanism tried to flare awake, tried to warn him he should brace for the floor, because Dave surely wouldn't stand for the hard points of desperation between them sharing such close proximity, threatening to touch through even that many layers of fabric. And he did tighten his grip on Dave's still half-on shirt, and his hair.

But he didn't expect the way the world spun when Dave moved.

All at once, Kevin had been swung down onto the couch, landing on his back, and the weight of Dave was on him, impossible pressure trapping them together at the hips.

He tried to be embarrassed by the squeaking sound that came out of him, but couldn't. His entire body felt like it was groaning.

Dave groaned, too, and fell at Kevin's neck again. And he might have stayed there, if Kevin hadn't forced the issue and pulled him off with a tight hold on his hair, lifting Dave's chin away so _he_ could have access, so _he_ could litter David's throat with kisses for a moment. 

Dave gasped.

Encouraged, Kevin pressed his luck and pushed his hips upward into Dave's, rolling them together as he nipped at Dave's throat experimentally.

Dave moaned.

Kevin reeled. He let go of David's hair at once to free his hands, frantic to try to get Dave out of his shirt, to try to touch more of his skin. But the shock of his nerves when Dave rocked against him, hard, sent a column of sweet ache through him, and he lost the thread completely.

They locked mouths, and dared to twist their tongues together, still too sweet from liqueur, sucking and swallowing and consuming. Dave's random, uneven rocking made Kevin flail, threatened to break him open, and he struggled to move against him steady, trying to impose a rhythm, to draw him in.

Somewhere along the way, he succeeded, and they were sliding in counterpoint, through their clothes. The sweats didn't do much to constrict Kevin, but Dave eventually reached between them to rearrange himself, and sighed into Kevin's mouth in relief when he had, picking up the pace with renewed need. The friction was thrilling and terrible at once.

When Kevin had accidentally bitten Dave for the 6th time (it was hard not to snap when your whole body was moving), Dave abandoned the kiss for his (apparently) favorite pastime. Luckily, he took to a lower spot, this time, so Kevin had room to bite down quietly on Dave's shoulder and brace himself. Maybe the alcohol was catching up with him, but he was caught in a dizzy swoon, and felt like he was falling unstoppably towards some impossible, perfect death. 

He let out a little wail when he came.

Dave stammered, "F-fuck," as Kevin froze, fouling up his momentum. "I haven't--"

Kevin shook his head dazedly, momentarily useless.

"What do I--" Dave tried to move again, but the friction was too much for Kevin, and he almost leapt out of his skin, jarred awake.

"Wait," he gasped, "just--give me--" Kevin planted his hands as firmly as he could at Dave's waist, to hold him still, trying to steady his breathing.

Dave was dangerously close to losing it.

"Okay," Kevin sighed, "let me just... think a second..." How could he help? He could hardly figure out how girls (or anyone, really) went about addressing these things from the other side. They made so much sense from his own angle...

"Come here, turn around," he said, breathlessly, inspired, shifting back to lean up against the arm of the couch. He tried to clean himself off surreptitiously with the inside of his sweats. "Lean back against me..."

Dave looked hopeless and almost mutinous, but after a brief but tense standoff, curled around to lay his back up against Kevin's chest and settle his hips between Kevin's thighs.

_This,_ Kevin could figure out. 

He felt like his hands were moving in slow motion, as they drifted to wrap around Dave's torso, finishing the unbuttoning of his shirt and unlatching his belt buckle. He felt more than heard Dave's breath hitch, as he slipped the tail of the belt free, and unbuttoned his fly.

_This,_ he understood. He spit into his palm and reached.

Dave arched up and away, so Kevin wrapped his free arm around him, to keep him steady, to keep him secure, to take the excuse to touch his skin and hold him close. He pretended he was only touching himself, with the other hand, but just for as long as he had to to get the feeling of it. When Dave began to react, to help him know what was good and bad, and finally joined him, crowding himself with their two hands together, Kevin knew exactly who he was touching and how. He reveled in it, strange as it was, and screwed up his courage to hook his chin over Dave's shoulder to watch.

It was beautiful and perverse and he enjoyed it way, way too much. Dave would disappear between them, reappear in secret glimpses as they slipped back and forth, now together and now against one another at cross-purposes. When they bumped into one another awkwardly, they even laughed a little, but it was a breathless thing wired through with energy on the brink of breaking.

Kevin was in awe. He kissed the side of Dave's head and face with all the affection in his soul; there was a strangely innocent joy in it, despite the situation, friendly and warm. He felt like he was soaring (though maybe that was the post-climax euphoria), so he kissed Dave some more, and squeezed him across the shoulders, even as he tangled his fingers with Dave's and stroked slickly.

When Dave came, with an almost pained gasp, Kevin wanted to sing, to declare undying love, to tickle him, to cry, but never committed to any of them. He just wiped his hand awkwardly on his already dirtied sweats, and folded his arms together snugly over Dave's chest, holding him tight.

"We don't tell anyone, right?" Dave murmured sleepily, after a while, but he wrapped his arms over Kevin's and curled his knees up in a promise to stay close by.

"Sure," Kevin replied, just as softly, laying his head against his friend's. He added silently, _'Just please still be here in the morning.'_

And pulling Dave's shirt back across him, to cover him against a chill, Kevin closed his eyes and fell asleep with his friend in his arms.


End file.
